


if home were a person (you make me homesick)

by postfixrevolution



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Character Spoilers, Drabble, Gen, Light Angst, Memory Loss, Unrequited Love, i botched the concept of einherjar but oh well, past/implied relationship, published pre-game so sorry if OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:20:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5580019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfixrevolution/pseuds/postfixrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants to breathe each and every memory back into her, instill time-tested reflexes into the taut stretch of her muscles and sigh old jokes into the tanned curve of her throat. He'd jump in front of swords for her, blow his painstakingly built cover — anything to bring back the Robin he once knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if home were a person (you make me homesick)

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's technically male Robin in the game but I was sad about my Awakening OTP and wanted to share that.
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so forgive any little mistakes that lurk!

He doesn't catch the flash of white the first time he sees it, too distracted with protecting his lord Xander to fully register that brightness as something so subtly, intrinsically different from the winter-colored tint of the Princess Kamui's hair. What finally catches Lazward's attention is: flowing fabric the color of gold stars lodged in midnight black skies, wrapped by Plegian-purple haze in the harrowing shape of eyes. She was always synonymous to that huge coat of hers, and nothing — not even years and an Outrealm's distance away from home — could change that. 

Lazward's eyes land on her and he freezes, completely breathless in that one, timeless moment. There are no possible consequences on his mind, no future regrets, as he breaks out into a full sprint, long and spindly legs pushing and pumping him closer to her, to _Robin_. 

He catches the brigand mid-swing from behind her. The man falls dead as she wheels around, earth-colored eyes flickering between her attacker and her savior with something almost, _barely_ short of awe. Lazward doesn't realize he's holding his breath until she exhales a soft chuckle and he breathes out shakily. 

"Nicely done," she comments with a kind smile, turning back to the battle around her without so much as a further word. He can't shake the feeling that there is another shoe waiting to drop; a teasing comment that will tumble past her lips, maybe, or the brilliant glint of playful brown eyes, the sound of his name on her tongue — his real name or his false one — anything that will instill the familiarity that he so misses into his bones once again. 

Nothing happens. 

She drifts farther away, pushes deeper into the fray, swinging her sword with a grace that he has long since memorized, but doesn't speak another word. Grey eyes blink vacantly after her, and he can acutely feel his chest aching, but he can't yet fathom why. 

"Lazward!" 

He flinches, eyes flying toward the source of the voice. Pieri glares at him from half a battlefield away, candy-colored eye promising bloody murder. Beside her, Xander fends off two mercenaries at once, blow after block after blow, and Lazward starts. With a muttered curse, he sprints back, barreling into one mercenary with an easy grace, slashing down the other in practiced sync with Xander. The two enemies fall, and his fellow guard is on him within seconds. 

"You left Pieri and her liege Xander to fend for themselves, Lazward," she begins lowly, her one visible eye crazily wide. "She ought to have your head for this; surely one more imbecile's blood on this ground will not bother her liege too much." A dark giggle escapes her mouth as slender fingers tap playfully along the hilt of her sword; Lazward can't help but swallow nervously, stepping away from the petite woman as she eyes him almost hungrily. 

"Pieri, enough," Xander intervenes, stepping between the two. Lazward physically relaxes. "The battle is almost won, so let us press on. Lazward and I will have words upon our return, though." Chestnut eyes land on him, and the grey haired man sets his jaw, preparing himself for a firm chastisement. "That was dangerous," the blond says, true to form. "The battlefield is hardly the place for distraction. Take care that the mistake is not repeated." 

Lazward nods curtly, biting back the grimace that threatens to pull down at his lips. Xander scrutinizes him, but grey eyes are too busy scanning the diminishing din of the battlefield to let the such a fact bother him; he searches for robes the color of night, eyes the color of earth, and hair the color of the clouds he'd watch in his second home, so much purer than his first and so much more familiar than his third. 

She's there, a battlefield away, pigtails flying behind her as she fights, a whirlwind in her own right. Everything about her is so painfully familiar — the sway of her robes, the balance of her stance — but the absence of her brief glances his way, of her sharp eyes keeping an eye on her comrades as her tactics unfurl around them, is Nohrian air in his lungs: unfamiliar, hollow, and hauntingly cold. Lazward tears his eyes away, meets a patient chestnut gaze. 

"Of course, my liege. It shouldn't happen again," he tells the prince robotically. A quiet voice in his head whispers that it will. 

**Author's Note:**

> Considering continuing this, but who knows?


End file.
